Conversations with the not so dead
by The Sithspawn
Summary: Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.
1. Septa Mordane I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Ok I've had this in mind for a while now, these will be just short conversations (though this one is longer than I expected:l ) between two or three characters, most probably minor characters. I didn't add them to the main story because they would break up the flow of the main story arc. Anyway, hope you all enjoy them! :) BTW updates will not be as regular as the main story.

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Septa Mordane I**

Only two days since everything had happened, and she was always wearing a perpetual frown. So much had changed since...she shuddered, that magic filled night. One moment she staring the Stranger in the face; Lannister men and their swords, waiting to return to the embrace of the Seven. And then...she was back, awakening with a shock in the Sept in Winterfell. And the beginning of insanity of that night and the violence, Robb savagely beating Theon.

Theon was an Ironborn and deserved that and much more for for his people's sinful ways. And then Hodor...

She shuddered fearfully, the Seven said that magic was to be scorned and sinful. No true follower of the Seven would so consort with evil powers and sweet little Bran was so accursed now. She shuddered again.

The disturbing shocks plagued her as she was walking down the hall in the family wing, she had to speak to Sansa about her actions. They were all changed by the magic, but that was no excuse for the girl to miss her prayers. She could do with a proper talking to now. Now more than before, Sansa needed to trust in the judgment and justice of the Father. The Seven would see them through these magic accursed times.

She uttered a silent prayer, asking the Father's protection and the Crone's wisdom in these trying times.

She reached Sansa's door and knocked, calling out, "Sansa!"

"Come!" called out Sansa from inside.

Septa Mordane entered and closed the door behind her. She stopped suddenly as she was surprised by the room. It was in complete disarray, the bed was almost completely covered in dresses and Sansa's direwolf pup was sleeping nestled in a nest of scrunched up and unfolded dresses. Her needles and sewing was thrown across her dresser. It was all very much out of character for the organized girl she knew.

Her frown deepened, as she reprimanded the girl, "Sansa! What is going on? A Lady must always keep her room orderly and clean! Have you forgotten all I've taught you? A highborn lady must always be tidy!"

Sansa stared at her an unreadable expression on her face, before her face surprisingly hardened, "I have forgotten _nothing,_ " the girl answered tersely. Her voice had a hard and unforgiving edge to it Septa Mordane had never heard before.

 _The gall of the girl! Has she forgotten everything that I taught her?!_ She thought incensed by the tone and the words.This defiance was something she expected from Arya, but never from Sansa.

Septa Mordane gave her a disappointed frown, "There will be time enough for you to clean this up after the evening prayer. Now more than ever we should be giving our thanks for this second chance. Come along you will join me in the Sept, now. "

Sansa laughed in her face and Septa Mordane recoiled in surprise at the harshness of the laughter.

The laughter stopped, Sansa's voice was just as harsh and unforgiving, "It was Bran who did this. The gods played _no_ part in it. The gods do not listen to our prayers. Take solace if you can with them, but I will have no part in it any more. I will not waste my time. I already have too much that _must_ be done," Sansa retorted with a derisive snort.

"That is _blasphemy_ child!" Sept Mordane cried out aghast, chiding Sansa harshly, "The gods have always looked out for us. Insolent child, I don't know where these strange thoughts have come from-"

" _Enough!_ I am _not_ a child. I have not been one for _far_ too long." Sansa's words cut through her and held such authority that Septa Mordane found herself going silent, despite herself. Sansa's eyes were hard icy blue chips that brokered no argument. "You over step your place, Septa!"

Septa Mordane opened her mouth to retort but Sansa cut her off harshly with a gesture and hard look.

"You will listen and then you will leave and see to your other duties, I do not have time to give you honeyed words...so many evil things happened to me after I died," Sansa's tone was as harsh as Lord Stark's when he was angry, "Cersei and Joffrey were my first tormentors." An angry growl came from Sansa's bed and Septa Mordane saw Lady sitting up and growling in her little nest. "Among the many things that Joffrey did was to show me _your head_ sitting on a spike next to _father's_." There was rage in Sansa's eyes now. Lady's growling was louder now.

Septa Mordane's stomach turned queasy as Sansa spoke of the Septa's own head on a spike. _Gods be good...to show a child her own father's head! Such a beastly thing to do!_ She unconsciously rubbed at her own neck.

"...all that paled in comparison to what Ramsay Bolton did to me. Lord Baelish sold me to the Boltons and Ramsay married me. And _every_ single night he _raped_ me. He made Theon stand and _watch_."

Her face cracked as Sansa spoke of what Ramsay did to her and that damned Ironborn's own duplicitous part in it. The horror she felt was limitless and dark.

"...Ramsay did such _things_ to Theon..." Sansa paused and shuddered with such revulsion on her face, Lady had stopped growling and seemed to be whimpering now. When she spoke again, her tone held such a tone of bleakness, "I _never_ knew or imagined that _that_ could happen to a person...he's wasn't _Theon_ anymore. Ramsay _made_ him _Reek_...he was just _Reek_."

Septa Mordane couldn't find her voice. The sorrow she felt for Sansa's plight rising.

"...I escaped, I joined with _Jon_ , and we took _back_ Winterfell from Ramsay...but not before he _murdered_ Rickon. Ramsay was a beast, with equally monstrous hounds, he liked to feed them human flesh. _Living_ human flesh." Sansa paused letting the full implications of her words hit Septa Mordane.

She didn't know which part she felt more horrified about. Poor Rickon! This Ramsay sounded more and more like something out of Old Nan's horribly inappropriate stories.

Sansa paused, giving a Septa Mordane a very calculating and cold look, "We captured Ramsay. Jon beat him senseless. He was our prisoner, and I waited for him to start to awaken. He was bloody and bleeding as I had been him brought to the kennels. I had him tied to a chair, and I made sure he was awake and talking, _before_ I released his starving hounds."

Septa Mordane's mind fled her as she realised what sweet Sansa innocent had done. Sansa was still speaking and she couldn't immediately follow all the words in her shock and sudden despair.

"...You still think me a child...I have no time for your _nonsense_ , I have survived more than you could imagine, seen and had done to me more than is right. I may look like a child again, but I am a woman _grown_. And now...I have more important things to deal with than an _errant_ Septa," her tone held such a tone of contempt and authority that shocked Septa Mordane.

Septa Mordane was more startled when Sansa suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Sansa's hard and unrecognizable face softened and she gave her a tired smile. Sansa reached out and cupped Septa Mordane's face tenderly, "In our last life, you tried to protect me, and paid for it with your life. That is not something that I can forget and for as long as you remember your _place_ , you will be _welcome_ in Winterfell...but I am not the little girl you knew. I am a Stark of Winterfell...and Winter is Coming. I am a wolf...and my teeth are _very_ sharp. Forget it and underestimate me at your own _risk_ ," Sansa finished with a finality of tone that left no space for argument.

Septa Mordane knew a dismissal when she heard it...but she couldn't find her voice as she stared at this creature wearing innocent little Sansa's flesh. She nodded in fear. She fled from Sansa's room with what little composure she had left.

 _I have to speak with Lady Stark!_ She must deal with this...this _perversion_! Lady Stark has always been sensible about these... _issues_. Lady Stark is a good and proper follower of the Seven, she'd know what needs to be done.

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you enjoyed this! As always don't forget to **REVEIEW**! :D


	2. Jory Cassel I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Glad so many people liked the Septa conversation. This is one isn't as long but I had it mind for a long time. As always don't forget to Review! :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Jory Cassel I**

Jory knocked on the door of Lord Stark's solar and waited.

He was on edge...along with the rest of Winterfell. The entire night and the strangeness of it all was bewildering. The scene in the great hall was stupefying, he'd heard the screams and had come running, expecting to find a bloody murder.

He _hadn't_ expected to to find Robb straddling Theon, beating him senseless and bloody. Jon Snow had arrived at the same time. Jon had promptly tackled Robb driving to the ground and off of Theon. They'd struggled for a moment before Robb had recognized Jon. Even then Robb had been red in the face and enraged. Jory had never since Robb like this before. Nor had he know Robb _possessed_ such rage.

Things had descended into madness after that as Robb screamed out impossible things and roaring about Theon betraying them. He screamed more obscenities at Theon and tried to jump on the prone Theon again intending to _finish_ what he had started.

That had finally shocked Jory out of his stupor. The look in Robb's eyes had scared him when he finally saw them. They left no doubt about how _final_ Robb intended to finish things. Robb's eyes had become the eyes of a killer. The green boy he had known had disappeared and been replaced with someone who had killed before.

Jory had jumped forward, grabbing Robb from one side as Jon grabbed him from the other. Things descended into further chaos as people began to crowd around him. As the crowd gathered and watched, half of them had started _cheering_ Robb on.

Jory shook his head trying to clear it, so much had happened in so little time, his head was spinning. He didn't even want to think about what his Uncle had tried to _do_ or _said_ afterwards.

Never mind the thing with Hodor!

Cutting into his revere came Lord Stark's voice, "Come!" he called out gruffly from behind the closed door of the solar.

Jory's mind turned back to present as he entered the Lord of Winterfell's solar. He found Lord Stark standing in the middle of his solar, with a frustrated and grim look on his face. Lady Catelyn stood with him and her expression wasn't any better...in fact it looked much _worse_. A myriad mix of emotions stained her face, most prominently; _despair_.

"Lord Stark, Lady Stark," he nodded respectfully at his liege Lord and Lady.

"Yes, Jory?" prompted Lord Stark.

"Ser Rodrick is questioning the people as commanded and Theon has been confined to his quarters. I've placed trustworthy guards at his door. No one can enter without your permission, _especially_ Ser Rodrick." He paused a moment before adding gravely, "But the people are still very... _unsettled_."

Lord Stark nodded back grimly, he turned to Lady Catelyn, "We will finish this _later_. Go settle the people, they must know that we have a handle on this...this _return_."

Lady Catelyn nodded unhappily, she looked like she wanted to add something before decided against it. She left without a word.

Lord Stark watched her leave, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment before turning to Jory. He still had a grim expression on his face which softened after a moment.

Lord Stark came up to Jory and grasped his shoulder, "After all that has happened, it is good to see you again, Jory."

The turmoil in Jory's stomach continued, his uncle- after calming down, _somewhat_ , had embraced him and said disturbing things to him that Jory hadn't wanted to believe. He'd said that Jory gone to King's Landing with Lord Stark and none of them had returned. He didn't know how Jory had died, but he did know how Lord Stark had been executed by the Queen's bastard, Joffrey...and wasn't that a whole other shock!

Jory hadn't wanted to believe him, but Lord Stark's comment lent much too much credence to his uncle's words.

Jory stumbled over his words, "Thank you, my lord," he managed to say. _What else could he say?_

Lord Stark smiled and squeezed his shoulder once more before moving away and taking seat behind his desk. The disturbed look had returned to Lord Stark's face. He sighed heavily, "This _business_ is disturbing...much will change in the coming days," he stated grimly. "We were _dead_...and now we're not...Now we live again...it's _unnatural_."

The turmoil in his stomach turned into a cold feeling at Lord Stark's dark comment. His throat drying up as he asked, "How did we die?" _Was that even a proper question to ask?_

Lord Stark's head jerked up to look at him in surprise, "You don't remember?"

Jory shook his head, "No, my lord."

Lord Stark paused and pursed his lips, his expression darkening further, "Sit down Jory, "he commanded.

Jory sat as Lord Stark began his tale. With quick curt words, he explained how King Robert had came to name him Hand of the King. And all the betrayals that Lannisters had committed.

It was _War_.

War was _coming_...

The Queen's actions and Tywin Lannister's pride would broker nothing less. It was horrific combination and the Realm would bleed for it.

Lord Stark's face turned grimmer, as he gazed at Jory, "Martyn Cassel was a good man. You are your father's son. I _never_ questioned your loyalty before...and now I never _will_..but I would rather that you didn't share your father's fate. There are _too_ _few_ Cassels in the North for my peace of mind."

Jory's back stiffened at his liege lord's words of praise, as he sat straighter in the chair. The turmoil he was feeling disbursed by the sense of pride that was overwhelming him now.

"...Jory, for my sake and yours, for the debt that House Stark owes your father for his sacrifice by my side, whatever happens in the days to come...do _NOT_ cross swords with the Kingslayer." Lord Stark finished gravely with a hard beseeching look.

Jory frowned, _the Kingslayer?_

... _Oh_.

 _Killed by the Kingslayer...at Lord Stark's side? At least it wasn't a stupid death_ , he thought darkly as he sat and absorbed Lord Stark's words of warning. Jaime Lannister was among the greatest of swordsmen, it was no dishonor to fall before such an opponent, even if the man and the rest of his actions were dishonorable.

His father had fallen to Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning. And he'd fallen to Jaime Lannister, the Lion of Lannister. It seemed being killed by renowned swordsmen had started to become something of a family tradition.

Sort of...

After a few moments of silence. Lord Stark rose, "See to the people Jory, calm them and assure them, we are in control. Then get some rest...I doubt the coming days will be restful."

Jory rose at the command and dismissal, "Yes, Lord Stark"

He left the solar quickly, thoughts of the Kingslayer coming unbidden to his mind and haunting him. The siege of Pyke came readily to mind and what he'd seen of the man then.

As he walked though the halls of Winterfell, he shook himself, shaking his head hard, coming to terms with all of Lord Stark's revelations.

Was it natural to know who would kill him?

Probably not...

Lord Stark's other words came back to him. _Not enough Cassels, huh? Perhaps it's time to find a nice girl to settle down with as well?_

With a silent prayer to the Old Gods, he moved forward with renewed vigor. He had duties to attend to. And a future to plan.

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you all like this. Don't forget to Review! :D


	3. Salladhor Saan I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** People on Alternate History forum asked me about Salladhor Saan a while back, and this is my response to them :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Salladhor Saan I**

The slow swaying gently rocked him, as sleepiness clouded his mind. His heavy covers kept him warm as he lay in his soft bed.

He sighed and pulled the covers around him more, enjoyed the warm...it been so long since he'd been properly warm.

 _Wait a minute..._

Salladhor Saan sat up hastily and blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

As his eyes cleared, surprise was the foremost feeling in his gut.

He was in his cabin on his ship. It was quite warm...warmer than he remembered it being for a while now. Almost like it was summer again...

Yet...he remembered the cold winds...the remorseless, relentless dead and how they had overrun the docks before they could cast off. The image of the broken corpse of the Westerlands knight that had cornered him came back to haunt him.

He shook himself, "It was just a dream..." he ran a hand over his eyes casting away the dark image, "Of the course the Others aren't real! The dead stay dead!" he laughed to himself. He ignored the hysterical edge that his laugh held...it was just a nightmare nothing more. A fucking disturbing nightmare, but still just a nightmare.

He threw off his covers with gusto and jumped off the bed. The day was starting and it was full of so many possibilities, he thought happily.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

He stood on the bridge of his ship, proudly surveying his vessel as his men went about their tasks with efficiency and speed. He'd always run a tight ship and today was no different than other day. The men knew to work and not shirk their duties...or _else_.

His Second Mate was giving him a report, they were anchored off Braavos, they'd received the shipment of wines and spices they'd been waiting for and they would leave soon. Their contact would be waiting for them now in Lorath. It would be a short trip to Lorath from Braavos.

"Captain!" called out his First mate, cutting off the Second Mate's report.

Saan turned and smiled at the approaching man, his First mate was a good and solid man, he'd been with him for years now.

The first sign that something was wrong was that his first mate looked flustered and confused as he approached.

"What's gone wrong, now?" Saan asked with a frown and annoyed tone.

His First mate returned the frown, "Nothing today..." he took a deep shuddering breath and then asked deadly serious, "uh, Captain...didn't we all die?" His voice quivered with fear.

Saan's good mood came crashing down, "What?" he asked stunned.

"They...they caught us at dock, they overwhelmed us..." the First mate trailed off, a scared look on his face.

The Second mate turned to the First mate, his face filled disbelief and scorn, "What the bloody hells are you talking about?! _Who_?! How?!" he sputtered.

The First mate turned fearful eyes at Saan, but didn't answer.

"...the dead," finished Saan as his stomach turned into a clenched fist. Dread filled him. It was just a dream...it had to be a dream!

His second mate was staring at them now as if they had gone mad... _which is as good a description as any for this situation!_ The part of Saan's mind that wasn't frozen in shock commented idly.

Questions quickly flew between Saan and his men. Soon enough he calling out to all of his crew demanding answers. Demanding to know if anybody else _remembered_...

Soon enough the turmoil and furor consumed him and his men, as those that remembered spoke with those that didn't. All work stopped as the men began speaking and arguing, each quickly talking about what they remembered- if anything.

By the end, the horrific truth was written on the faces of enough of his men as they crowded around Saan. Not many remembered, but enough to prove the awful, catastrophic truth. Every horrific minute of it.

It hadn't been a dream...it hadn't been a nightmare!

Every horrific second of it had been real! From Stannis Baratheon's failed attack on King's Landing, to Hardhome, dragons and beyond!

For the first time in a very long time, Saan was truly shaken.

Saan shook himself, it wouldn't do for the men to start doubting him now, he looked around and saw the wavering faces of his crew. Decisive action was needed.

"Do not worry!" he called out boldly, "However this has happened we are _lucky_ it has! We can save _ourselves_! We know where the enemy is! And when they are coming!"

"What about Davos?" his first mate suddenly called out.

"Fuck Davos! All he did was drag us all from one unwinnable war to another!" Saan declared with a scornful tone. He quickly came to a good decision. _A very good decision._ "We'll go as far away from Westeros as we can get!" he declared joyfully. "Yi Ti sounds far enough away, eh?" he roared out the question enthusiastically at his crew.

Most of his crew cheered...all except one.

As the cheering started to die down the man that hadn't cheered called out, "Uh...Cap...doesn't Yi Ti have their own stories of the army of the dead?" the crewmen asked pointedly, with a concerned look on his face, as he scratched nervously at his scraggly beard. "I met a Yi Tish trader once that told some tall tales about fighting the dead..."

Saan blinked then clapped his hands together, "Fuck Yi Ti then, the Summer Islands, it is..."

The cheering from his crew was louder this time.

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you all liked this! :) Seemed in character for Saan, to run away like this. As always don't forget to Review! :D


	4. Alton Lannister I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Been a while since I added a chapter, hope you all enjoy this encounter. As always, don't forget to review! :)

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Alton Lannister**

He'd been avoiding his cousin since Jaime returned to Casterly Rock...but it was unavoidable that they'd run into each other...eventually.

The fear of it was with him with every step he took in Casterly Rock. He avoided Jaime at every given turn; going out of his way to remain hidden in the lower floors and avoiding the family floors. The world had changed and chaos and madness were the norm now. The Dead and the Long Night were coming and that was all that was important now.

But he still remembered being a prisoner of the King in the North...he remembered just how brutally Jaime had _murdered_ him.

And there wasn't anything he could do about it. Tyrion was Lord of the Westerlands now, and it was well know that he only truly loved two members of the family. Gerion and Jaime...and Gerion was long lost to old Valyria.

So what was he suppose to do to protect himself? Keep hiding? Gather his things and run?

It ate at him every day, what is Jaime going to do to him when they meet?! What will he do to keep me _silent_?

Alton sighed deeply and unhappily as his stomach fluttered, the discomfort that had been with him since the first day getting worse. He continued walking down the dimly lit and empty corridor. He continued on his task, bringing messages to the master at arms. The corridor ended and he reached the stairs, going down two floors. He looked back and forth down the new corridor keeping an eye out for Jaime. He didn't see him and so he moved forward quickly. This floor was one more traveled than the previous one. He quickened his pace fearfully. He had to be quick about this. He looked behind him as he turned a sharp corner.

He came to sudden and uncomfortable stop as he bounced off something hard and unyielding. He blinked and then looked at what he had run into.

That was when the floor fell out from underneath him...his fear reaching all new heights.

"Watch where you're going!" Jaime Lannister's arrogant and angry voice ordered. He stood there the same as always, beautiful and arrogant. He was wearing Lannister red with the golden lion stitched across his chest. He was even wearing his sword on his belt.

A Lion for a Lion. One with very sharp and unforgiving claws.

"Umm..." he felt faint and his tongue weighed as much as a siege tower as he was confronted with his murderer.

The arrogant and angry look on Jaime's face was just as he remembered it. The prideful Lannister was just as prideful as always.

"...you should look where..." Jaime trailed off as his face suddenly turned white, "Alton..."

Alton flinched at his name, and gulped audibly, "Ser..Ja..Jaime," he mumbled hesitantly.

A pained expression was painted on Jaime's face. The haughty look had completely disappeared. If that wasn't enough Alton thought he saw guilt there was well.

They stood there staring at each other and Alton was suddenly very fearful for his life as he realised that they stood alone in a very empty corridor.

Finally, Jaime broke the silence, he gave Alton an uneasy smile, "Sorry isn't really enough, is it?" Jaime stated in a pained tone.

Now Alton was bewildered...was his cousin, the arrogant Kingslayer trying to _apologize_? That almost sounded like an apology.

"Uh..." he still couldn't form words.

Jaime snorted, regaining some of his haughtiness, "I'm sorry I _murdered_ you," he apologized in a deeply pained tone.

"Um..." nope, nothing to say. No words could be said as his tongue remained frozen with fear.

The haughtiness disappeared again and the guilt was written all over Jaime's face, as Alton continued to cower wordless in front of him. What could possibly be said in such a situation like this?

Jaime sighed uneasily, "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you...not again. I have enough crimes I have to pay for, you're one less that I have to be guilty about now. One thing undone, one less I mistake in my very long list of mistakes..." he trailed off after a moment, "You're not going to say anything?"

Alton gulped fearfully, "Wha..what can I say?"

Jaime raised his hand to his brow and rubbed at it, "I'll talk to Tyrion. I took everything away from you last time, but now I can make it up to you..."

Alton blinked in surprise, _What's happening? I'm lost.._.

"...see to your duties, we're Lannisters, we pay our debts..and I owe you a debt that has weighed heavily on me for a very long time." Jaime announced, evenly, the guilt looked frozen on his face. He nodded once and then walked away. His shoulders were slumped for some reason.

Alton stared after him till Jaime disappeared from his gaze. He blinked once at a complete loss.

 _What just happened?_

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you liked this. Please don't forget to review! :D


	5. Alysanne Lefford I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews! :) It's much appreciated. I've been planning this for a while. *****Westerosi morals and standards are in effect here. Please bare this mind as you read...and that Bronn is an evil bastard with no heart.** *** As always don't forget to review! :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Alysanne Lefford I or How Bronn finally got his castle...**

She was aware of the maneuvering that was happening around her. Lord Tyrion had been making overtures to her simplistic father...and Father had lapped up the attention from the new Lord Of Casterly Rock eagerly like a thirsty dog. The added confusion of him not remembering was not helping. He was still pompous and egotistical as always, if had remembered his death, it would have probably have tempered his pride. She shuddered as she thought of that possible future, as the Starks were apt to say, _Winter is Coming_. It had been ominous before...and much more so now she knew what the words truly spoke of.

She grunted in an unladylike manner as she walked through Casterly Rock, the visit here was dragging on as Lord Tyrion consolidated his hold on the Westerlands. It was all rather a simple matter, most of the Lords were pledging their loyalty with little noise. The fact that both the indomitable Lady Genna and loyal Ser Kevan had forsaken their own brother spoke volumes of how futile any further support for the Old Lion would be. Even Father had balked at voicing any objections as how complete Lord Tyrion's grip on the Rock was fully revealed.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt end as a man came to stand in her path. The man stood there with a pleasant but unwelcome smile on his lips. She knew him and grimaced inside, she'd been avoiding him.

"Ser Bronn," she said in a neutral tone. The lowborn sellsword was wearing black leathers and looked the part of a lowborn man...but the knight had Lord Tyrion's confidence and was not someone to be crossed lightly, even if she was the heir of the Golden Tooth and House Lefford; the second richest house of the Westerlands.

And more importantly, he was the man that father and Lord Tyrion were trying to marry her to...

"Lady Alysanne," he bowed with a smug smile in his face.

"Ser Bronn," She nodded and made to walk past him but he moved into her path. She glared at him. "Did you want something, Ser?" she asked with a haughty tone.

"Aye. And you know what I want," he retorted quickly with a nod, unmussed by her unwelcoming tone.

She stared back icily, "You are a lowborn sellsword and my father is Lord Leo Lefford of the Golden Tooth and-"

"...he lost his own castle didn't he? Not an impressive man is he? Made a mess of so many things didn't he? Not that I blame him much, even Tywin Lannister couldn't defeat the Young Wolf on the battlefield," Bronn interrupted irreverently.

She grimaced, there was more truth to the insolent words than she was happy with, "I'm aware of the mess my father made of the defense of the Golden Tooth and the Westerlands."

"Me- I'm good at all those things he's not so good at. Wouldn't be here if I _wasn't,_ " Bronn retorted smugly.

She ground her teeth and glared again, "And?" she demanded.

Unexpectedly, he stepped very close to her before continuing. Much closer than was appropriate for an unmarried man and woman, he whispered, "I also know all about your _friend_ , Lady Tyra, that pretty little Handmaiden of yours."

The expression on her face froze as she realised the full import of his emphasis. He stepped away from her and waited, giving her an expectant look and raised eyebrows.

She grit her teeth, and asked through clenched teeth, "What do you want?"

Slowly, his smug grin grew broader on his face, "I'm a reasonable man. I want what's owed to me. A title. A castle," he paused and shrugged, "Beyond that I'm open to negotiation." he paused again and added with a short chuckle, "Technically, I think I'm owed _two_ castles and two titles...but I'm not greedy, I'll settle for _one_ of each."

She frowned at his audacity and insolence and then quickly looked around, thankfully they were alone in the corridor, before turning back and asking pointedly, " _Negotiations_?"

"Simple, way I see it, no matter what happens you need an heir and Tyrion needs someone competent holding the Golden Tooth," began Bronn quietly, "I get what I'm owed and you do _whatever_ you want behind closed doors."

She looked at Bronn with a suspicious look, this sounded much to good to be true.

She gave him a dismissive look, "And what about your _needs_?"

He laughed, "That's what whores are for."

Her lips twisted in distaste, but his words weren't wrong. She knew she had to marry, that was unavoidable, she was the heir. And even if she wasn't and she'd had other siblings, she still would have been forced into a marriage to some son of a noble house. Secrets could be kept but too many times, these secrets had the habit of being revealed at inopportune times. At least this way, it was one less person to hide from.

His words were direct and had merit. And he was already known to have kept the Lannisters' secrets. For a price of course, but he was trustworthy to a certain point. Very slowly she warmed to the idea, it was not an unattractive prospect...assuming they survived the Long Night. Quickly she came to a decision, she nodded, "You keep your whores private...no bastards. And I rule in all but name."

Bronn gave her a saccharine smile, "I'll leave the honeyed words for you- and the boring stuff...I'll stick to killing our- and Tyrion's enemies."

She extended her hand towards him, "I will speak to my father, for now...we have a deal."

Bronn took the hand, but instead of shaking it in agreement, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles while giving her a smooth half-bow, "Yes, my lady, I think we do."

She arched an eyebrow at his unexpected action, "At least I won't have to teach you too many manners," she retorted smartly.

Bronn laughed, "I've been spending too much time with _fancy folk_."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and said dryly, "You're about to _become_ fancy folk."

Bronn just gave her a toothy smug smile in response, " _I know_."

 **Author's notes:** Hope you liked this. In another fic I read, it was hinted that Alysanne was possibly gay, so I decided to explore it here as a lever that Bronn could lean on to get his castle. And please remember this is Westeros, this is a better arrangement than she could hope for under most circumstances. Anyway, don't forget to review! :)


	6. Melessa Tarly I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** I've always liked Melessa for some reason (and Talla), which is why she has a chapter, even though it might seem a little pointless in her contribution to the story...

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Melessa Tarly**

Melessa fretted. She fretted and fretted. She'd been fretting since the day _everything_ had changed. She put on a brave front, but inside, her insides were constantly in turmoil.

That day she'd walked into the training yard and thought that Randyll was finally going to do something drastic to Sam...only to hear that her husband had already passed drastic and threatened to _murder_ Sam.

Her sweet Sam! Her kind and considerate boy!

She'd lost it and before she'd realised what she was doing slapped Randyll, right there in the middle of the training yard, in front of everyone. She shouted and screamed at him in anger and then slapped him again as he put Sam down for the millionth time.

She still wasn't sure who more surprised by her actions that day, her or Randyll...she'd never actually seen that expression on his face before.

The situation had escalated in the shouting match between father and son. The things they'd said had had her looking back and forth between them wondering just how mad they'd gone. Except both Talla and Dickon had shared their madness as well.

Then things had completely left the realm of sanity as loyal Ser Darvon and the other guards had imprisoned Randyll at Sam's command as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

" _Mother!_ "

She started and looked up, Talla was standing in front of her frowning, and she realised that she'd gotten lost in her thoughts again, she'd become so engrossed she'd dropped her sewing. She bent and picked it up. She'd been sitting and sewing in her rooms...more preparations for the coming Winter...which Sam had explained would be _far_ worse than anything she had ever imagined. Snarks and grumkins coming to kill them all.

She shivered and cast those dark thoughts away, and turned her attention to the young woman in the young girl's body who was standing in front of her waiting for her response.. Sweet little Talla was acting like a woman now...at least most of the time. She still indulged in small childish acts now and again.

"Did you want something my dear?" she asked sweetly.

Talla grinned and pulled out a scroll, "News from Sam."

"What's happened now?" Melessa asked frowning in concern.

Talla smiled widely in response, "His plan worked."

Melessa's heart skipped a beat or two, "Then he's..." she started suddenly breathless.

Talla nodded eagerly, "Sam's the new Lord Paramount of the Reach!" she crowed in joy, jumping up and down in her excitement.

Melessa blinked, her sweet, kind boy was Lord of the Reach now. The entire Reach! Such a strange new world this was now! When he'd shared his plans before leaving she'd thought he'd become delusional...except Lords Hightower _and_ Redwyne _and_ cousin Axell had backed him up...and now Sam really was Lord of the Reach in name and fact.

She shook herself, she was so proud of her Sam. She'd always known that he was going to do good things but this was...she shook her head again, as a small proud smile came to her lips.

She looked up and found Talla staring at her, biting her lower lip, the excitement in her eyes was something Melessa had seen before...every time Talla had unexpected good news to share.

"And..." Melessa prompted pointedly.

Talla's grin seemed to grow larger now, "Dickon's been betrothed to Margaery!" she shouted joyfully.

Her face went blank as her mind reeled at the sudden implications of Talla's words.

 _Dickon is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell?_

But Loras Tyrell was dead...and this meant that...this meant that _Dickon_ would be the next Lord of _Highgarden_?!

Now she was truly stunned. Sam was Lord of the Reach...and Dickon was going to be Lord of _Highgarden_?!

House Florent had always been scheming to claim Highgarden and the Reach for their blood...and it was achieved by her sons with minimal effort? She didn't know whether her ancestors would be proud or pained at how easily this had happened now, when they'd failed so spectacularly over the centuries...

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Talla asked when Melessa didn't say anything in response.

Melessa shook herself, "I'm shocked, my dear. Happy- but shocked...I didn't know that Sam had such aspirations." she stated in a surprised tone.

"He doesn't. But it doesn't matter, Dickon is going to marry Marge! She was always so lovely!" Talla bounced enthusiastically as she spoke.

Melessa nodded distracted. Talla wasn't wrong, Margaery was a good girl. And a much better match for Dickon than Melessa had _ever_ expected or dared imagine. An idea occurred to her and she shared it with Talla.

"I'm happy for Dickon, but wouldn't it make more sense for her to marry Sam? I'd have thought Lord Tyrell and Lady Olenna would have preferred that." That way would have been more politically convenient for the Tyrells, wouldn't it have?

"Of course she wouldn't marry Sam, he has Gilly." Talla said matter of factly.

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop, " _Gilly_? Who's Gilly?" she questioned in surprise.

Talla beamed widely, "Sam found someone to love him just the way he is! Before he became like he is now. Timid, round, Sam had someone who loved him dearly, just as he was." Talla paused for a second, a little unsure of herself, "Sam really should have told you about her before he left..." she paused for a moment cocking her head, "But he did have a lot on his mind." She admitted with a shrug.

" _Talla_. Who's Gilly?!" she repeated more forcibly.

Talla squirmed for a moment and then spoke, "He met her while he was in the Night's Watch...north of the Wall."

 _North of the Wall?!_ "A _Wildling_ girl...and my Sam?" Melessa sputtered in disbelief.

"She's kind and sweet. And they made such a cute couple!" Talla said with enthusiasm

Melessa's mind was reeling.

"...and she cleaned up so well. She looked better in my dresses than I did." Talla smiled emphatically as she finished.

"A _Wildling_." Melessa repeated evenly in disbelief.

Talla nodded, "They prefer being called Free Folk," she added and then paused for second before becoming excited again, " _Oh!_ And you don't remember little Sam! He was so cute!"

"Little Sam?" Melessa echoed not understanding.

Talla nodded again.

It took Melessa far too long for her to realise what exactly Talla meant by little Sam. A child. Sam's son. Her first grandson. With a Wildling- no, Free Folk girl.

She was happy that Sam found love in that other life...but he was Lord of the Reach now. He'd renounced his inheritance and was a man of the Night's Watch in that other life...though that carried a whole other set of problems with what Talla was telling her. But in this time, and this life, he was Lord of Horn Hill- and Lord the Reach as well! It wasn't proper for the Lord of the Reach to be associating with a Wildling. Oh, she was overjoyed that Sam found someone to truly love him and that fact endeared this Gilly to her far more than she expected to feel towards another woman, especially a Wildling, but things had changed now. Sam was Lord of Reach and certain standards were expected of him now.

"Uh...Mother?" Talla asked hesitantly.

"It's obvious that your brother and I need to have some words about what is appropriate to his new rank," she stated testily.

Talla looked alarmed now, "He's the Lord of the Reach now! You can't be mad at him!" she defended her brother.

Melessa sniffed haughtily, "We will see." She would have words with Sam when he got back.

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you all liked that! As always, Read, Enjoy and Review! :D


	7. Randyll Tarly I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Another short Tarly POV, just because, before I get back to writing the next chapter of the main story.

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Randyll Tarly I**

He seethed and seethed as he paced. It was all he did these days. Locked away and forgotten in his own castle! Betrayed by his blood and his own bloody men!

Ser Darvon, that traitorous bastard had sold him out!

He fumed, his days were all the same. Locked away and powerless. Ignored by the guards and the servants except when they came to bring him food or clean his rooms. To add insult to injury, the only thing he had to distract himself were the _books_ that Samwell had had put in the room. The windows of the room were barred and all he could do was just catch glimpses of the out side through small cracks.

The days had been the same till he'd glimpsed Hightower and Redwyne _and_ Florent banners from cracks in his window but he'd heard no fighting. He'd expected they'd come for him sent by the Tyrells. Lady Olenna would be out for blood for his betrayal, but that didn't explain the Florent banners. His goodfamily had supported Stannis...why would they stand with the Tyrells close kin now? After a few days, he'd heard the commotion as they'd marched away, now accompanied by Tarly banners.

It made no sense...not that much was making sense these days.

The sound of his door opening caused him to turn around in surprise. It was too early for his meal they'd just cleaned his rooms this morning.

His surprise turned to scorn as Ser Darvon walked in.

"What do you want, traitor?" he spat angrily.

Ser Darvon returned the scornful look undaunted, "Nothing."

He frowned again till he saw Talla entering behind the traitorous knight.

"Talla." said Randyll in surprise. This was the first time he'd seen her since the training yard that maddening morning. This was the _first_ time he'd seen _any_ of his family since that day.

"I'm here to make sure you don't do anything rash," Ser Darvon said in the same scornful manner.

He turned to Ser Darvon tersely, "And you think I'd hurt my own daughter?" scoffed Randyll.

"You've already threatened to murder Lord Samwell. I'm not taking any chances." he retorted, questioning Randyll's honor, not budging an inch in his defiant stance.

Randyll ground his teeth at the barb. He glared back angrily.

"Thank you, Ser Darvon, I can manage this," Talla said interrupting their standoff.

Ser Darvon turned to her and bowed, "Yes, Lady Talla." He stepped back and took up a protective position by the wall. Silently watching them both.

Talla turned to her father and her eyes were hard, filled with anger, "I'm still mad at you. The _only_ reason I'm here is because Sam asked me to tell you the news," her voice filled for contempt for him, "And mother's still hopping mad about what you tried to do."

"What news?" he asked with an arrogant sneer, getting straight to the point, ignoring what Talla said about Melessa. Despite everything, he was greatly starved for news. For anything that would explain what happened with the visiting Lords.

Talla looked him straight in the eye and said without preamble said, "Sam is Lord Paramount of the Reach now."

The sneer disappeared. He couldn't have heard Talla right. His brow furrowed in confusion, "What?"

Talla rolled her eyes insolently at him, "Sam's Lord of the Reach."

Randyll blinked, "What?"

"He's Lord of the Reach and Warden of the South," Talla repeated crossly.

Randyll found a seat and sat down heavily. _What?! His fat cowardly slug of a son...Lord of the Reach?! How in the Seven Hells did that happen?_

"How?" He demanded breathlessly of Talla.

She waved her hands around, "This was all a part of their plan. Including making Sam Lord of the Reach... _again_."

" _Again_?" he echoed the word in disbelief.

Talla nodded and continued, "And Dickon is betrothed to Margaery Tyrell now...oh and Ser Loras died in King's Landing. So Dickon's going to be next Lord of Highgarden as well."

He gaped for a moment, before remembering himself, Dickon...Lord of Highgarden?

"...And we're swearing fealty to the Targaryens again."

His surprise disappeared and his sneer returned, "So, my fool of son will bend the knee to a foreign whore and her _savages_ and _slaves_?" he spat contemptuously.

"No, to the King in the North. Jon Snow. He's actually Jon Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn son by Lyanna Stark," Talla added. She paused and gave him a wide smile, "He's also Sam's best friend from their time in the Night's Watch."

He was caught flat footed and it felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. Rhaegar Targaryen's...son?! Randyll stared incredulously at Talla.

Talla didn't wait for his surprise to abate, "Lord Stark hid and protected his nephew. And now we're all swearing fealty to him."

He sat very still trying to get his mind around all that Talla had just thrown at him. A Targaryen prince, hidden in Winterfell. Raised by Eddard Stark...a proper Westerosi Lord, raising the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Unlike Daenerys...this was actually quite...acceptable. If he wasn't imprisoned in his own castle, he could and would have backed such a King against the Baratheons. The North and Riverlands would also back such a King.

 _And Dickon!_ His pride and joy..the next Lord of Highgarden?!

The pragmatic part of his soul grudgingly whispered that Sam was doing absurdly well for their House.

"How...is all this happening...why? And why would the Tyrells allow this?!" he managed to say through his surprise as he finally found his voice again.

Talla and Ser Darvon blinked. They shared a look.

"Didn't Sam tell him?" she asked Ser Darvon.

Ser Darvon blinked again and then looked chagrined, "Uh...no he hasn't told him."

Talla let out a disgruntled sigh and turned back to her still reeling father, "The Others are real and coming to kill us all."

Randyll blinked before snorting with disdain, "The Others? That is a northern legend! It's not real!" he denied, even as a small part of him wondered about the truth of it. The Wildling girl had claimed that Sam had killed a White Walker. And now...he'd been dead and yet he was alive again...why wouldn't the monsters be real as well? Was it possible that the fat coward had actually done that?

"Whether you believe it or not, I've done what Sam asked of me. I'm leaving now," Talla said with contempt, she didn't spare her father another glance as she turned and left.

He stared after her retreating form, getting lost in his thoughts again.

His thoughts were interrupted as Ser Darvon paused at the door and turned back to look at Randyll, "Lord Randyll, Lord Samwell is a different man now. By the time of his death, Lord Samwell was very much the son you'd always wished for. He died with _Heartsbane_ in his hand crossing sword with the Night's King himself," Ser Darvon paused and looked mournful, "He died even as I struggled to come to his side."

Randyll stared unbelieving at Ser Darvon, but the man didn't say anything else. He just turned and left, closing and locking the door behind him. He left Randyll alone with his reeling thoughts, trying to come to terms with just how much this world changed in what felt like an eyeblink.

 **Author's Notes:** Hope you all liked this. So this is basically Sam rubbing salt into Randyll's wounded pride ;D :D As always don't forget to review! :D


	8. Nyla I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** I think this is a scene that **_EVERYONE_** has wanted to see ;):D The perspective is from an **OC character**. Whether or not she appears again later will be the subject of discussion. On another note, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth for some reason, hopefully the coming chapters won't take as long. Also, I've decided to wait on updating the main storyline of the Raven's Plan till the end of season 8. In the meantime I will be focusing on some chapters I've had planned for Conversations for a long time.

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Nyla I**

She was running.

All she could do was run and run and run. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. She ran as if there was a demon behind her. The man that was pursuing her was a demon. A bastard and butcher. The hounds' barking came nearer and and all thoughts fled from her. She ran faster. Branches scratched her face as she pushed through a low hanging branch. The pain only sparked new panic in her. She had to get away from the demon.

More barking came. The sound of his cursed hounds.

She could only hear the hounds barking and the thunder of her heart in her chest trying to escape. She tried to run faster. She crossed though another thicket and stumbled as her foot got caught on a root. She lost her balance and waved her arms through the air frantically trying to regain her balance. A tree appeared in front of her and her head bounced off it painfully. The world went dark and then the air was driven from her lungs as she rebounded and hit the ground.

She lay on the ground gasping for breath trying to gather her thoughts, waiting for her eyes to clear. When she could finally see again, it was a hellish scene that was in front of her.

She froze with fear as she found herself surrounded by three snarling hounds. Their master stood a few yards away proudly looking down at her. It was the beastly man, Ramsay Snow, Lord Bolton's bastard son. His cold blue eyes shone with cruelty that was matched by the woman that stood at his side. Myranda was the kennel master's daughter, cruel and snide with everyone she spoke with. She'd always avoided her as much as possible while serving in the Dreadfort.

But she couldn't understand why they were doing this! She'd done nothing to them! She'd always avoided them! Strange things happened to those that didn't avoid them! She thought in a panic.

She prayed to the Old Gods for help.

"You little whore...always thinking yourself so much better than everyone," Myranda spat in derision.

She couldn't understand why this was happening. The strange and confusing turn of events that had led her to this deadly fate.

She shook her head frantically, "I'm not. I didn't do _anything_!" she plead in a panic.

Myranda sneered at her, "Shut your lying mouth!" she screamed angrily.

Her mouth closed with a click of teeth as she flinched away from the irate mad woman.

"You've given us such a _fun_ run, but we do have other things to do," cut in Ramsay as he gave Myranda a smoldering smile. He then hefted his bow, nocking and aiming an arrow at Nyla.

"Come now my love, where's the fun in that?" Myranda asked coyly. She turned back to face Nyla and gave her a spine chilling grin that promised a slow painful death, "We can have fun _here_...and then later...more _fun_ , there's enough time for us to do both."

He seemed to think for a moment and then returned her cruel smile, "Ah, of course, my dear. But where are my manners...after you my lady," Ramsay said in mock respectful manner with a low laugh. He lowered his bow and grabbed Myranda and gave her a forceful kiss.

They broke part, Myranda pushed him away with a shove, "Later," she promised him. She turned back towards Nyla and gave her a jeering expectant look, "First, it's time for _another_ kind of fun."

The bastard laughed again.

Myranda slowly came towards her, each step steady and unyielding, the promise of violence in her cruel blue eyes.

"No...please..." Nyla begged, sobbing, " _Please_... _mercy_..."

Myranda's smile just got wider as she heard Nyla's pleas, "I'm going to enjoy _this_." she paused for a moment before continuing, "And I going to take my time."

Myranda stepped forward, a small number of paces separated her from Nyla now, she unsheathed a knife and gave Nyla a toothy mean smile. She took another step forward, coming to stand amongst the snarling hounds.

One of the hounds turned from Nyla, and in a flash suck it's teeth into Myranda's leg.

" _AAHH!_ " she screamed in surprise and pain. She fell painfully to her knees, losing her grip on her knife, before the hound pulled her leg out from under her, he face slamming into the ground painfully. The second hound sunk his teeth into her arm and began tearing the flesh. The third went for her neck as she lay prone being shaken by the hounds.

Blood spattered and Myranda's cries turned into pained gurgles.

" _NO!_ What are you doing! Stop! _Stop! I said STOP!_ " she heard Ramsay scream in a panicked rage.

An arrow whistled through the air and went through the neck of one of the hounds. He nocked a second arrow and loosed it just as quickly and a second hound fell.

The third hound let go of Myranda and jumped away from where the other hounds had fallen. It turned and growled at Ramsay, it barked twice then continued snarling as it paced towards him, Ramsay held back his third arrow for some reason.

Nyla looked back and forth at the absurd scene in front of her.

Myranda's panicked dead eyes stared up at her now, blood covering her. The surprise was still written all across Myranda's face. The corpses of two of the hounds were splayed out where they had fallen, blood pooling around them.

While Ramsay was still staring down the final hound, " _Down girl!_ " he commanded, his bow, held steady and at the ready, his eyes locked on the third hound.

The hound snarled again and bared it's teeth ignoring his commands, stalking him. They stood there stared down each other for a breath...stalemated.

The stalemate ended with a suddenness that surprised Nyla.

The hound suddenly ran at him, growling, and then jumped at him just he loosed his third arrow. The snarling turned into pained yelps as the arrow found it's target. The hound fell and rolled across the ground, coming to rest in a bleeding, dying heap. It whimpered piteously and then went silent.

Ramsay looked at the fallen hound in confusion, his blue eyes bewildered by what had happened with his hounds and Myranda. His eyes began manically going back and forth between the corpses around them, as if he was trying to understand what had just happened...not that Nyla understood either, how things had changed so quickly. He shook his head, as if to clear it. And then suddenly he turned towards her.

" _What did you do, you bitch?! You filthy whore! What did you do to my hounds?!_ " he screamed at her, nearly hysterical. His blue eyes aflame with madness as he stepped towards her.

She shook her head, too stunned and scared to do more than that.

" _What did fucking you do?!_ " he screamed again, spittle flying from his mouth.

She shook her head again frantically. She quivered in fear as Ramsay dropped his bow and pulled out a skinning knife. She cried out for mercy, but he kept coming, screaming accusations and curses.

A growling shadow rose behind Ramsay and he froze. The angry look disappeared and the confusion was back. He started to turn around, but a massive brown paw clubbed him across the neck and he went sprawling to the ground.

She got a good look at the shadow then. The paw belonged to a very large brown bear. The bear came down with all of it's weight onto the sprawled Ramsay. She heard the crunch of bones breaking and then Ramsay was screaming. The Bear roared and raised a paw to bat at Ramsay. Blood flew through the air and then the bear lowered its head and there was a wet squishing noise as Ramsay's screams of pain turned into loud gurgles. The bear's head came up it's powerful jaws filled with Ramsay's flesh. The bear swallowed and then bent down for another another bite.

She stared at the gruesome scene in front of her. The bear eating Ramsay. The dead hounds and Myranda's still warm corpse.

She laughed hysterically, overcome by the absurdity of it all. She'd been saved from Ramsay, the beastly man, and now she'd be eaten by the beast who ate the beastly man. The bear would finish with the bastard and turn on her next.

Her heart thundered in her chest as time passed, and the moment of her doom approached. The bear raised it's head from the remains of Ramsay, it's muzzle stained red with blood. It's eyes came to focus on her, and she knew it was the end.

The bear turned fully away from it's meal and stepped towards her, rising up on it's hindquarters to it's full height. It looked down at her, shook it's head once, and then raised one paw. She frowned in confusion, it wasn't approaching. It was just standing there with it's paw outstretched to the side. After a very long moment, she gasped in stunned disbelief as she realised what it was doing. It was pointing back towards the village. She blinked in surprise, not understanding what was happening. One finger of the paw was blatantly raised, and was definitely pointing back to towards the path to the village.

She stared dumbly at it in incomprehension.

The bear huffed in annoyance and shook it's paw again.

True understanding finally came to her... _it was the Old Gods!_ They'd heard her prayers and answered them! The Old Gods had turned the hounds against their masters! They'd sent the bear to save her! And now the bear was telling her to go home!

Trembling, she rose to her feet, her eyes not leaving the bear's far too human eyes. She could see the intelligence in them now, even as blood dripped from it's muzzle.

"Thank you..." she mumbled in awe.

The bear shook it's paw impatiently. And she nodded and took off back to the village, muttering prayers to the Old Gods with every pained step she took away from what should have been her death.

She cast back one look at the bear, and found it bent over the beastly man, feasting on his flesh. It was a true, and just end for such a monster.

She gave one final sigh of relief and hobbled slowly back to her village.

 **Author's Notes:** And this is the end of Ramsay and Myranda! :D Hope you enjoyed this! As always, Read, Enjoy and Review! :D


	9. Tomard I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Here's another scene that I've had planned for a very long time. Hope you all enjoy this! :)

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Tomard I**

Life in Winterfell had taken a strange turn recently.

Magic abounded and people were acting strangely. 'Course coming back from the dead would do that to a person. Not that he remembered anything that had happened before. Varly and Hullen would tell him, they'd gone to King's Landing and died there along with everyone else including Lord Stark.

 _Fucking Lannisters._

And yet life went on in Winterfell. Guards patrolled the grounds. Guarded the gates. Dealt with the odd brawl or thief in Winter Town. Though things were much calmer these days, with everyone busy preparing for Winter.

And of course, they had a new King.

Jon Snow- or rather Jon _Targaryen_.

And wasn't that a bloody fucking surprise. Dour young Jon, the king of the seven bloody kingdoms...and the Others were coming to kill them all...because there hadn't been enough surprises already!

It was enough to make a man go mad!

He sighed and shook his head, everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

"What?" asked Varly, who was sharing his duty in the armory of Winterfell.

"Nothing," he retorted.

"Then why were you sighing?" Varly prodded.

"Can't a man just sigh?" He growled back.

Varly gave him a suspicious look and then just shrugged, turning away from him.

That was another thing, the suspicion. Everyone was so bloody suspicious these days. People were seeing threats everywhere. Being betrayed in King's Landing and then the Red Wedding had made everyone suspicious.

The gods damned Red Wedding. His blood ran cold every single time he tried to imagine Lady Stark and Robb being murdered. That the fucking Freys would _dare_ break guest rights. He didn't like to think how they felt about that. Robb was a good lad and hadn't deserved such a fate.

 _Fucking Freys._

He sighed again.

This time Varly just cast him an unamused look but didn't say anything.

He ignored Varly and cast those unpleasant thoughts away and focused on his duty, they were in the armory standing guard, and they were only half-way through their shift.

The shift continued on and on. It all so boring. Men came. Men left. Some with weapons, some without.

The monotony was broken up when one the Manderly men he knew, Wallis, came in. The talked a bit. About weapons, the ale in Winter Town, and Ros. Glorious Ros, and her big soft tits.

As they talked he noticed a small figure looking through the racks of weapons. It was Arya Underfoot, trying to get up to no good, doubtlessly.

"Hey! What have I said before?" he walked up to her and then bodily picked her up without waiting for a response. She squirmed in his grasp, but he didn't let go.

He carried her all the way out of the armory. He put here down outside and glared down at her, "No playing around in the armory," he declared gruffly to Arya, baring her path back into the armory.

He laughed, at least one person hadn't changed. He watched as she glared at him and then stuck out her tongue at him before racing away to probably get into more mischief. He laughed to himself and walked back to Wallis.

He found Wallis standing there staring at him, pale and with wide horrified eyes. Wallis was also slowly backing away from him.

He frowned at the man, "What? Can't let little Underfoot get into trouble here."

"That's Arya Stark."

"And?"

" _That's Arya Stark,_ " Wallis repeated dumbly, his eyes filled with fear.

Tomard rolled his eyes at him and gave him an 'are you stupid look', " _So?_ Have you any idea how much trouble Arya Underfoot would have caused if I let her mess around in the armory? Lord and Lady Stark would have my head!" he huffed with annoyance.

Wallis just kept staring at him, unblinking and aghast. He shook his head once and then slowly backed away.

Tomard frowned at the Manderly man's actions and shook his head at the man's stupidity. You never let little girls mess around in the armory, that was just common sense. He turned back to his duties...or at least tried to.

He found that every other guard in the armory was giving him the same stare that Wallis had been giving him. The aghast look was on the faces of every last Manderly and Reed man around him. The other Stark men were looking between him and them just as confused as he was now.

"What?" he demanded in confusion.

Nobody answered him, instead they all just turned back to their tasks, ignoring him. He shared a glance with Varly, but he just shrugged, just as confused as Tomard was.

He ignored it and got back to work, but over the next few days, Tomard found that only the other Stark men were talking to him.

All the Manderly and Reed men avoided him like he'd gotten Greyscale.

 **Author's Notes:** He he, been wanting to write this since way back. Finally got it done. As Always, Read, Enjoy and Review! :D


	10. Tomard II

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews! AndKudos to Natzo for putting this idea in my head. Hope you all enjoy it! This is also a little something to cleanse our minds of that joke of a finale we all suffered through...ugh...trying to forget it now. Anyway, don't forgot to review! :D Now I'm off to write the next chapter of the main story! ;D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Tomard II**

He was sitting down now, in the barracks, eating his meal with a mug of ale, enjoying his rest. He was finally off his aching feet now. He sat at the end of a bench at the table, in the guards' barracks. The men nearest him were other Stark men, the visiting Manderly and Reed men were sitting as far away from him as possible.

Things had not been right since his encounter with Arya Underfoot, in the armory. Wallis was still avoiding him, ever since that day in the armory. Seeing the men treating Little Arya differently was his first sign that things had really changed. The Manderly and Reed men seemed to be... _cautious_ with her- and not because she the Lord Stark's daughter...there was something more there. Though she wasn't treating him any differently. The little tricks that she'd always played continued. She'd gotten hellishly good at leaving surprises for him. Things going missing and then reappearing in places he knew he'd never left them. There was no way that he would ever have left his _sword_ in the _Great Hall_.

Ser Rodrick had been apoplectic with rage with him when that had happened. He'd cursed him out and laid out punishment duty like nothing that Tomard had _ever_ seen before. Not that Tomard could blame him. A guard getting drunk enough to forget his sword in the Great Hall? Yeah, that was never going to pass quietly. It had been one shit duty after another from Ser Rodrick for that...even if it wasn't his fault. What could he do? Blame a little girl? Blame their liege's daughter? And admit that a little girl had taken his sword from him without him _noticing_?!

He snorted, yeah that wasn't happening. He'd taken all the punishment without a word, only giving Arya glaring looks whenever he'd passed her while no one was looking.

At least the day was ending now, and he didn't have guard duty tonight...maybe go visit Ros for a bit? That last time, he'd visited had been the best yet, apparently she'd learned a few things in King's Landing in her last life. Though she was swearing up and down that she was never leaving Winterfell again, not for anything. He'd asked why, but she'd just cursed up a storm, cursing Mockingbirds, Spiders and the inbred little shit, Joffrey. Why Mockingbirds? Spiders he could understand, nobody liked spiders. And Joffrey- well fuck him, they'd have his head on a spike soon enough.

He shrugged and shook his head, _women_...there was no understanding them.

Speaking of women...or rather little girls. The most recent bane of his life was approaching him now. She was walking slowly towards him with both her hands behind her. She was carrying something but he couldn't tell what.

She came to a stop next to him, he glowered at her as she gave him an embarrassed smile.

"I talked to Ser Rodrick, he knows it was me and not you," she said evenly, "And he wants to talk to you, about your duties...but after you finish your meal."

He glared again at her, and huffed angrily. He didn't say anything.

Whatever she was holding behind her back, she brought it out now. It was a heavy bowl, with some sort of pie...it was probably another prank.

She smiled at him sweetly, "Consider this my apology and a peace offering. I know I took it a little far with the sword," she admitted apologetically, "I'm sorry," she finished contritely.

He glared at her again, " _A little far_." he deadpanned unhappily, before giving the pie a suspicious look. He looked back at her with narrowed eyes, his glare undiminished.

She placed the pie in front of him and then produced two spoons. She held one out to him, which he gingerly took. She held up her spoon and then took a spoonful of the pie. She ate the spoonful without any hesitation and gave him an innocent look as she chewed.

Still suspicious, he slowly raised his spoon and dipped it in the pie. Just as slowly, he brought the spoon closer and eyed the piece of pie. It looked normal enough- it looked like some sort of berry pie.

Arya swallowed and gave him a toothy smile, waiting for him to taste the pie.

Gingerly, he brought the spoon to his lips. It didn't taste strange, he chewed and chewed as the flavor exploded in his mouth, "Blueberry?" he mumbled as he chewed.

She nodded happily.

He swallowed it and licked his lips, as apologies went this one was _delicious_. He took another spoon of the pie and made Arya wait as he enjoyed the flavorful pie. This was a quality pie, like something that the cooks made for feasts. As apologies went, this was...acceptable.

He gave her a rueful smile, _who could stay mad at little Underfoot?_ "Fine, fine, you're forgiven," he admitted gruffly.

Her smile grew, "I promise not to take it this far... _next time_ ," she stated cheekily, before turning and walking away.

He eyed her as she quietly left, taking another spoonful of the delicious pie. Yes, little Arya Underfoot had changed, but she was still _Arya_.

He turned back to the other men as he chewed the delicious pie, and found that this time, the few Manderly and Reed men that were sharing his table were now, _to a man,_ very, _very_ green faced. Many of them seemed to be gagging and retching. Tomard knew the sight of men fighting to keep from spewing. And they all looked that way now.

He scowled at them all, "What the fuck is the matter with all of you?! It's just fucking Blueberry pie!" He ignored them angrily and kept the rest of the pie for himself.

 **Author's Notes:** He he and Arya's antics continue :D For those wondering, yes he'll find out soon enough, what all the fuss is about :D As always don't forget to review! :D


	11. Tomard III

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you for all the reviews! It's much appreciated :) This is _probably_ the final Tomard POV. The song _Rock of Doom_ is courtesy of Pennsylvania on . Thank you for saving me the trouble of writing it! As always Enjoy and Review!:)

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Tomard III**

The day started as any other. Breaking his fast with the other guards. Their duties given out to them by Ser Roderick. Nothing new, the same as yesterday and the day before.

And then people began arriving at Winterfell.

First the Onion Knight- who is now, some how, Hand of the bloody King now, then Barristan fucking Selmy himself, then Wildlings! _Wildlings_! Wildlings that were welcomed into Winterfell! What the fuck?! Since when were Wildlings friends? Two of them had actually been slain by Robb and Theon in the first life! Though the third, Osha, the spearwife, had actually saved Bran and Rickon. So everyone was glad to welcome _her_ , including Tomard. Wildling or not, that made her alright and welcome in his book. Then Tully men showed up with prisoners. He'd missed the last arrival, but he'd heard rumors of _Freys_ in Winterfell. They brought even more outlandish rumors as well with them, something about the story of the Rat King being true. Others about Faceless Men in Westeros. Most didn't make sense.

Though maybe he'd get some answers now, a Tully man was sitting opposite him in the barracks enjoying the evening meal with them.

"Hey, you brought the new prisoners?" Tomard asked.

"Aye, gift's from Lord Edmure," the Tully man answered. He paused and gave Tomard a look, "I'm Desmond."

Tomard nodded, "Tomard," he introduced himself, "Who'd you bring?" he asked making conversation.

"Lothar Frey," he spat the new in disgust, "He's the one that murdered the Queen, Talisa Stark and her unborn child," he further explained in disgust, "He'll die soon enough. The other one is Lord Robb's traitorous little squire, Olyvar. He's for Lord Robb's judgment."

Tomard's own anger ignited now, dark deeds indeed! He sneered angrily, "Fucking Freys."

"Aye, fucking Freys," Desmond agreed vehemently.

Murmurs of agreement echoed from the others had the table, irrespective of which house they were sworn to.

Next to him, Varly spoke up, "I heard that Lord Edmure killed all the Freys."

Desmond snorted, "I wish. Just the ones that took part in the godsdamned Red Wedding."

The man next to Desmond cut in, "Hey Ser Stevron was innocent _and_ he died for the Young Wolf fighting the Lannisters. He didn't deserve to die with the rest of his traitorous kin."

Desmond sighed and grimaced, "And Lord Edmure is marrying Lady Roslin...again."

Tomard let out an annoyed snort, "Why the hells would he do that?"

Desmond shrugged, "Damned if I know. Even if she is a cute little thing...there has got to be better Ladies then her," he finished in annoyance.

Tomard took a bite from his meal and thought over all that Desmond had said. Quiet descended on the table for a while before one of the Riverlanders began singing, and before long all them joined in as everyone else watched and listened.

 _House Frey had stained themselves in blood  
when they had broke Guest Right,  
Lord Walder Frey slew King Robb Stark  
in his own halls one night._

 _Then Arya Stark, avenging blood,  
baked two Freys in a pie,  
slew Walder Frey, poisoned his sons,  
and left them all to die!_

 _With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!_

 _When Brandon Stark brought us from Death,  
by turning back time's wheel,  
Edmure Tully called Frey's sons forth,  
and ordered them to kneel.  
Black Walder and Lothar came forth,  
the worst of Lord Frey's gang,  
of them, plus one, the Starks will judge,  
the rest the Tullys hang!_

 _With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!_

 _"And who are you," Black Walder said,  
"that I must bow so low?  
As an Anointed Knight, of me,  
Trial by Combat's owed!"  
Lord Edmure threw him to the ground,  
and beat that cursed sot,  
then grabbed a stone and crushed his head,  
and killed him on the spot!_

 _With judgment like a Rock of Doom  
the Starks and Tullys tell  
that Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!  
Yes, Walder Frey and his fell sons  
are damned to Seven Hells!_

His eyes were wide and he gaped at the Riverlanders as they finished singing, _little Underfoot killed a Frey? Maybe more than one?_ "Which one did Lady Arya kill?" he asked in surprise of Desmond

Desmond gave him a big satisfying smile before answering, " _All of them,_ " he laughed loudly, "Every last fucking one of them."

Tomard gaped, "All of them?"

Desmond nodded, a gleeful expression on his face.

"What did you mean _baked two Freys in a Pie_?" Varly added in a perplexed tone.

 _Baked? Pie?_ Thought Tomard is surprise, he'd missed that part.

"Lady Arya killed Black Walder and Lame Lothar and baked them into a pie...which she fed to Walder Frey, before killing him," Desmond explained with a satisfied smile, "The next day she poisoned them all and then walked out proudly declaring that _Winter came for House Frey_!"

"Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person or house," added another Riverlander enthusiastically.

The rest of Riverlanders started laughing nastily at that.

They may have said more but Tomard wasn't listening anymore. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears. _Little Underfoot had done what?!_

He swallowed fearfully, there was vengeance and then there was what she did. Suddenly, the wariness of the Manderly and Reed men made _so_ much sense.

He looked around him and found Varly pale and gaping at Desmond, "How the fuck did she do _that_?! Didn't...didn't anyone notice _anything_? She killed their lord? _And no one noticed?_!"

Desmond's smile turned even wider, "No."

"How the fuck did she mange that?!" Tomard exploded in disbelief. The Freys were know for their incompetence but not to notice your own liege Lord was _dead_?!

Desmond shrugged, "It's easy when you're a Faceless Woman," he said offhandedly, not understanding what the issue was.

No. Because...no. Just no. Because Arya Underfoot was a Faceless Woman. An unstoppable assassin of unparalleled skill and competence.

The silence in the barracks was deafening as the Riverlanders smiled and the Stark men stared, just like Tomard not believing their ears.

Tomard stumbled out of his seat, leaving Varly and the Riverlanders behind. Numb with shock and forgetting the rest of his meal, he stumbled out of the suddenly very stuffy barracks and into the clear and chilly night air.

He broke into a cold sweat. She'd baked _him_ a pie. No no...no one he knew was dead...he shook himself. She wouldn't do something like that to him...right?

His mind was aflame with the revelations, _how in the name of the Old Gods and the New did Little Underfoot become a Faceless Man?!_

In his mind's eye he saw her, the little girl he knew, her smiling face staring up at him, innocent and friendly. The pranks, the mischief she always got up to.

How did one reconcile _that_ with what the Riverlanders were saying about her?

And the Manderly and Reed men had known! And they'd kept silent! No wonder they'd been so wary of her!

Arya Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface...was a Faceless Man.

And it terrified Tomard.

 **Author's Notes:** He he, hope you all liked this! :D As always, Enjoy and Review! :)


	12. Myrcella Lannister I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** A little more Lannisters and a look at life in Casterly Rock; before the maester conspiracy you all enjoy this! Don't forget to review! :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Myrcella Lannister I**

Things had gotten better as time went on, people had started treating her better, more like the age she had been before her death. There were still a number that were still surprised when she opened her mouth and spoke like a proper young lady, but those incidents had gone down and were mostly limited to those people that were only visiting Casterly Rock.

The downsides these days was that the truth of her _birth_ was well and truly known now. Tommen's sullenness was the same even as he followed behind Uncle Kevin everywhere, like a small duckling following its mother. Thankfully, people were far too afraid of father to do anything but whisper very, _very_ softly behind their backs.

Even with all the changes, Jaime Lannister was still Jaime Lannister. The Lion of Lannister and still the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms. Few in Casterly Rock and the Westerlands had the audacity to anger him.

She didn't deceive herself that there wouldn't be others in the other Kingdoms that would dare to anger him, but all things considered she was probably never leaving the Westerlands ever again.

It pained her that any betrothal between her and Trystane was politically impossible now. She was just a legitimized Lannister bastard now and not a Princess, but considering the alternative she could live with that...no matter how much she missed him. She tried not to think about how she'd eventually just be married off to some landed knight sworn to Casterly Rock. At best maybe the heir of some Westerlands House that wanted closer ties with the Lannisters. That was going to be her fate.

Assuming that the Others didn't kill them all...

But that wasn't something she liked to think about, and right now, it was completely irrelevant to the situation at hand.

With the recognition of her true age, she'd found herself drown to and lumped with Cerenna and Myrielle, her Uncle Stafford's daughters. They were always nice to her, though Myrielle had a low, tactless and crass wit that was shocking for a such a highborn lady. The older Cerenna was more composed, though she seemed to share uncle Tyrion's love and passion for books and a dry amusing wit. The contrast between the sisters was exaggerated at times but she found that enjoyed their company.

As usual, today she found herself with them and Aunts Genna, Dorna and Myranda. Aunt Dorna was a small and very _humble_ woman. A surprising thing for a Lannister, even if she was only one by marriage. She was a perfect match for Uncle Kevan. Aunt Myranda was _not_ humble at all. A Lefford by birth and Lannister by marriage, Uncle Stafford's wife was well aware of the lofty positions of both those Houses. Yet another perfect match for the oafish, though kind Stafford.

They were now all sitting and sewing as befit Highborn ladies of House Lannister. It was wasn't exactly outright boring, but Aunt Genna always dominated these sewing circles, when she wasn't overseeing some facet of the management of Casterly Rock for Uncle Tyrion.

Or was crossing mental swords with Myrcella's imprisoned Grandfather.

Myrcella hadn't had the courage to try and see the imprisoned Lord since she'd arrived at Casterly Rock. She didn't actually know what she would say to him or how he'd treat her. Before he'd been civil...and surprisingly kind with her, if always aloof and intimidating as befit the Lord of Casterly Rock and his towering reputation.

And now...she was the legitimized bastard daughter of his golden son.

Yeah...not something she was going to approach unless she had to. She had no idea how he would react to _that_ truth.

She shook her head and pushed those thoughts away. Myrielle had utter yet another off colour joke and Aunt Genna shooting her yet another reproving glance.

"Really Myrielle, I raised you better than this. Must you continue speaking such...low japes, it's unbecoming of a lady of your high standing," Aunt Myranda scolded her younger daughter.

Myrielle just smiled sweetly and blinked her eyes innocently at her mother, "As you wish mother," she retorted sweetly, "Perhaps we should speak about cousin Jaime... _and Lady Brienne?_ "

Myrcella frowned, _what about them?_

Aunt Genna frowned and gave Myrielle an unreadable look even as Cerenna starting giving her sister a number of pointed and alarmed looks.

"What about them?" Aunt Genna demanded sharply.

Myrielle smiled widely, "Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"Which rumors?" Aunt Myranda questioned as even Aunt Dorna shot a curious look at Myrielle now.

Myrielle's smile turned even sweeter and Myrcella sensed yet another one of her tactless remarks about to be thrown out.

"Why the one about cousin Jaime... _kissing_ Lady Brienne," she said with complete aplomb.

The silence that greeted the rumor made Myrcella realise that father had been keeping his friendship with Brienne a closely guarded _secret_. Myrcella decided that it was best that she focus on her sewing...and not on the conversation.

"That... _beast_ of a woman and _Jaime_?!" Aunt Myranda uttered, completely horrified at the idea.

"Beast is right! I saw her knock the _Hound_ on his ass in the training yard!" Myrielle crowed, amused by her mother's consternation.

If anything Aunt Myranda looked even more appalled now.

"Lady Brienne is a kind and formidable woman," cut in Cerenna, shooting her sister and mother disapproving looks.

"She's _taller_ than Jaime...and _broader_ as well!" decried Myranda in disgust, "She's not a fitting woman for man of Jaime's stature and birth...even if Tyrion is Lord of the Rock now."

"She is her father's only heir. She will inherit the island of Tarth," Cerenna retorted pointedly, "Cousin Jaime is more of second son now. This would be a good match..."

Cerenna wasn't wrong, the few times she'd seen them together, father had seemed...well, different. Lighter somehow.

"Myrcella." Aunt Genna voice stuck like lightening, cutting Cerenna off.

Myrcella looked up and found Aunt Genna staring at her intently, Genna's face was blank and unreadable.

"Yes, aunt?" she asked innocently.

"Lady _Brienne. And your father._ " Genna repeated in a deadpan. "Is there _something_ to this rumor?"

The silence in the room was suddenly very heavy and oppressive. Myrcella straightened her back and faced her great aunt unflinching. "I saw them kissing in the hallway. And Father called her his _friend_."

Myranda sniffed disdainfully as Myrielle looked gleeful at having the rumor confirmed. Genna looked thoughtful and then huffed, "It seems I need to have a _talk_ with Jaime." She gave the other ladies long looks, "this is enough gossip for today. There are better things for you all to be doing," she gave Myrielle a hard reproachful look that cowed her. The girl squirmed in her chair and looked away from Genna's hard eyes.

The other ladies turned quietly back to their sewing, but aunt Genna's eyes lingered on Myrcella. She met that gaze without flinching and after a moment, her aunt's eyes seemed to soften with what seemed like... _approval?_ Aunt Genna then turned back to her own sewing.

Silence was paramount as Myrcella turned back to her own sewing trying to decipher the look that had been in her aunt's eyes. And figure out what Aunt Genna was going to be saying to father.

Maybe I should do something for father and Brienne? Father will probably be mad after whatever Aunt Genna was going to say to him...possibly more annoyed than anything else, all things considered.

So what can I do for him and Brienne?

 **Author's Notes:** So what can Myrcella do for them? ;) Anyway, been planning this small arc centering around Myrcella and Brienne a while now, more Myrcella POVs are coming. And for those wondering, I'll get back to the main story soon enough, I won't be focusing only on this arc. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this! And don't forget to review! :D


	13. Brienne of Tarth I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews! As always, it's much apprciated! :) **  
**

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Brienne of Tarth I**

Brienne replaced the the weighted tourney sword in the weapon rack. She was tired and weary, her muscles aching from her training today. Each day, the time she spent training grew more and more, there was nothing else for her to do. The waiting was getting to her, she'd had nothing to do except sit and wait since she'd reached the Rock.

Tyrion was lording over the Westerlands, Jaime was menacing anyone that looked at his brother with disrespect. The other Lannisters were busy helping Tyrion rule- not that she could have helped with that. Bronn was settling in his new position as a _Lefford_ , of all things. And Pod was running around so much every day, she barely saw him any more.

And all she could do was stand around and train.

With a sigh, she turned around and her thoughts came to a complete and sudden halt.

Standing only a few paces away from her, Myrcella Lannister stood looking expectantly up at her. She was flanked by the sisters, Cerenna and Myrielle Lannister. The older sister was standing there with respectful and small smile on her lips. Myrielle on the other hand had gleeful and predatory look on her face as her eyes seemed to asses Brienne like a piece of meat on her plate.

Behind them, the Hound looked bored, he just shrugged when she cast him a questioning look.

Whatever was happening now, Brienne knew an _ambush_ when she saw one...she just didn't know what she was being ambushed _for_.

"Ladies," Brienne said with a respectful nod.

Myrcella seemed to be leading the ladies today, "Lady Brienne, all finished for the day?" she asked sweetly.

Brienne felt the trap being set. She nodded slowly, "yes, my lady...I was just about to go and clean up-"

Myrcella's smile grew predatory, "Excellent!" She turned and nodded to the Lannister sisters.

The two sisters, now smiling sweetly, came to stand on either side of Brienne. They each entwined an arm with Brienne and started gently pulling her forward, much to her consternation.

"Uh..." She was uncomfortable...and at a loss as what was happening.

Myrcella was walking in front, and slightly to the side of them, "I've had a servant prepare a bath for you...and _then,_ we can get _started_."

Confusion clouded her mind "A-allright..."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Today was turning into one of the most awkward– admittedly not as awkward as when Jaime had stripped down and joined her in a bath when they were both prisoners of the Boltons. But it was a close second.

Standing with wet hair in Cerenna Lannister's room wearing a luxurious red robe after her bath, Brienne still didn't understand what was happening to her. Or how she'd been maneuvered here.

The Lannister sisters were sitting to the side expectantly, while Myrcella was standing at the foot of Cerenna's bed. The bed was covered with various fabrics, all of very good quality to Brienne's inexperienced eye, this was the Rock and they were Lannisters, she wouldn't expect anything but the best of fabrics.

And to the side, fidgeting uneasily was a seamstress with a tape measure waiting to take her measurements.

"Come on Brienne," coaxed Myrcella patiently, "she won't bite. And you do need a good dress. We've all see the width and breadth of your wardrobe here."

"If you can call _two_ outfits a wardrobe," Myrielle commented with a snicker.

Brienne shifted unhappily at the comment. It was true, her clothing options were _limited_ , "Fine" she stepped forward and spread her arms out as the seamstress started to go about her business. She could put up with this...

Myrcella beamed, "Good. Now let's discuss the fabrics..." she cast a mischievous look at Brienne, "and the _frills_."

Brienne grimaced and balked, " _Frills_? I'm not one for frills."

"Every girl has at least one frilly dress," retorted Myrielle joining Myrcella by the bed and looking through the arrayed fabrics.

"I'm _not_ every girl," Brienne disagreed, "I've _never_ had a frilly dress before."

"Even warrior maids need at least one frilly dress," argued Cerenna calmly.

Brienne shook her head, "War is coming."

"Which is all the more reason to get one _now_ ," Myrcella retorted without looking up from the fabrics she was pushing around. "Ah, here this will look good on you." She pulled out a deep blue fabric, she turned and looked up at Brienne, "It'll match your eyes."

Myrielle looked between the fabric and Brienne and nodded, "Absolutely. You do have...gorgeous eyes."

Brienne frowned, no one had ever said she'd ever had gorgeous _anything_.

"...I suppose the gods had to give you something to compensate for the rest of you," Myrielle continued idly with a small laugh.

Brienne's face burned at Myrielle laugh.

She stepped up to her and towered over her, glared down. Myrielle's laughter trailed off nervously as she started to squirm under the glare.

"I've never hit another woman before...but I can _start_ ," an exasperated Brienne stated menacingly.

Myrielle squeaked nervously.

"My sister is a crass, blunt _idiot_ at times, but she's not mean spirited...and she didn't really mean anything by it," Cerenna cut in, coming to her sister's defense in the nick of time, "her tongue just has the dumb habit of messing up."

Brienne looked to the older sister, then turned back to glare venomously at Myrielle.

" _Yes_! What Cerenna said!" Myrielle blurted out apologetically, "Some times-"

"- _most times_ ," interrupted Cerenna in a long suffering tone.

"-most times, I let my myself get carried away, I'm sorry! I truly didn't mean anything by it," Myrielle continued not missing a beat, in her most submissive and contrite tone.

Brienne looked at the intimidated girl and after a moment relented. It wouldn't do to get into a fight with someone like Myrielle...and truth be told the girl did seem earnest in her apology.

"Apology accepted." Brienne stated reluctantly.

An awkward silence descended on the women.

"You do know that in some places, your warrior physique and proficiency would be most welcome," Cerenna added after a moment, changing the subject and breaking the silence.

"Where?" Brienne asked curiously.

"In the city of _Bayasabhad_ , far in the east, there are a number of large female warriors there," Cerenna explained simply, "Of course, you'd actually be considered average sized by their standards..."

Brienne looked at Cerenna in surprise, " _Truly?!_ "

Cerenna nodded and then cocked her head, "And you'd need to pierce your nipples with an iron ring to fit in there."

Brienne flushed red at the comment, raising a hand to rub at a breast, "That seems...unnecessary."

Cerenna shrugged nonchalantly, a thoughtful look on her face, "I don't understand it either, that's just their traditions."

"How far east is this Bay-bayash...uh whatever it's name is?" Myrielle asked lightly, happy at the change of subject.

"It's very close to Yi Ti," Cerenna stated.

Brienne blinked, that was _very_ far away.

"Yeah...I don't see any of us going there any time soon," Myrcella said after a moment of silence with aplomb.

The seamstress cleared her throat nervously, gestured towards Brienne, wanting to finish her work. Brienne nodded and then stepped away from Myrielle, letting the woman finish her work.

Silence descended on the women as the seamstress went about her work efficiently. She finished and looked to Myrcella for direction.

"You can go, I'll have the fabrics sent to you when we've finished picking everything out," she commanded with a kind smile.

The woman nodded and quickly left, leaving them alone.

Myrcella walked to the elaborate dresser with a large mirror, she pulled out the chair there and patted the chair, "Come sit."

Reluctantly, Brienne obeyed and sat. Even sitting, she was well above Myrcella's eye level.

The girl was looked at her with narrowed eyes, "Did you hack off your hair with a knife? It's very rough. And very short."

Brienne squirmed unhappily, "Yes, it's easier to keep under my helmet that way."

Myrcella snorted, "Have you _seen_ my father's hair?" she asked pointedly with exasperation.

Brienne squired again, but didn't answer.

"His hair is much _longer_...," added Myrielle nodding.

"That's not an excuse or a good reason," Cerenna chimed in.

Brienne fumed at the wall she ran into. She was outnumbered in this...it rankled that they were right as well. Jaime's hair was much longer than hers...and did look better. Though he was prettier than _most_ women as well...so there was that as well.

"You're going to let your hair grow out- No more cutting it!" commanded Myrcella fiercely.

"Fine," Brienne admitted reluctantly.

"Good enough for now," she admitted warily, with a sharp look, "Now for painting your face..."

It was in that moment that Brienne realised that there was no getting out or away from whatever they had planned for her without doing some drastic. Which she wasn't willing to do.

Letting go of the last of her trepidation, she resigned herself to her fate, and gave in to the Lannister ladies' demands, "Fine, as you wish."

 **Author's notes:** Hope you all enjoyed this. A little bonding between the ladies:) Stay tuned for the finished product! ;) As always don't forget to review! :D


	14. Stevron Frey I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thanks for all the reviews! All are appreciated :) Here's a new perspective you all might like. It will explain what the Blackfish was taking about in the last chapter of the main story. As always, don't forget to review! :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Stevron Frey I**

Never in his life had Stevron imagined that the manner of his _death_ would be the one thing he was _most_ _thankful_ for in his life. Dying for Robb Stark was the _best_ thing that had ever happened to him in his long life.

As they passed through the gates of Riverrun, he thanked the Seven again for that blessing.

As he brought his horse to a stop, the hostility that was coming from all the waiting servants was palpable. Even the stable boy taking his horse as he dismounted was staring at him with hate filled eyes.

Stevron kept his face blank as he internally sighed, this wasn't going to be changing any time soon. The infamy of the damned _Red Wedding_ wasn't going to disappear anytime in his lifetime...or in the lifetime of the next Lord of the Twins- whoever he finally named his heir in the end.

His sons were dead, executed for their part in the massacre. His elder grandchildren as well. Only babes and women remained of his line. After outliving three wives, that was all that he had left.

He shuddered, in the end, Hoster Tully might just decide to give the Twins to one of Roslin's future children. That would be the easiest path.

Those thoughts haunted him as he was ushered towards Lord Hoster's solar. He found himself seating and waiting in an richly decorated antechamber. Sitting next to him was his _much_ younger sister, Roslin Frey- soon to be Roslin Tully.

He looked at his _half-sister_ and their eyes locked, she was young enough to be his _own_ _granddaughter_. And before their return he couldn't remember a single time they'd ever spoken. There had been no reason to before...and it was much the same with the rest of his younger half-siblings. After the spell, he'd found himself speaking with her a great deal, and despite the age difference they'd actually gotten closer. There hadn't really been another option, he was well aware that the future of House Frey was in both their hands now.

He felt a hand on his and looked down and saw her hand on his. He looked up at her quizzically.

"All will be well, brother," she reassured him.

He snorted at the absurdity of it, considering the age difference it should have been him reassuring her.

She frowned at him and he quickly patted her hand, "I hope so, my dear, unfortunately, much like our _father_ , Lord Hoster is a man that does _not_ let go of grudges."

She winced at the mention of Walder Frey, before smiling reassuringly, "Edmure will smooth things over," she reassured him.

He wished that he felt as sure as she did, but the world was filled with too many impossible things for him to be assured just by words. The sooner her wedding to Edmure happened, the safer he'd feel.

"I hope so," he rejoined hopefully.

They lapsed into silence as they continued to wait for Lord Hoster to summon them. They waited for quite a while before they were finally summoned before Lord Hoster. All the while, Stevron sat and simmered in his own anxiety, agonizing over what he would say to his liege lord and just how Hoster could change his mind over a number of dangerous- if not _lethal_ ways...

When they were finally summoned, they entered hastily. Inside the solar, Lord Hoster was sitting behind his desk, he looked old and weak, but the implacable look in his eyes drove away Stevron's initial assessment.

Lord Hoster didn't speak as Stevron and Roslin genuflected to him, Hoster sneered at him, before ignoring him, and turned to look at Roslin. His implacable look disappeared as his eyebrows rose in surprise as he gave her a once over with his eyes before turning to Edmure.

"Are you sure she's a Frey? She's far too _pretty_ to be a Frey," he stated with aplomb.

Brynden and Edmure snorted and started to chuckle.

"That's the exact same thing I said, Hoster," declared Brynden as he chuckled.

Hoster sniffed and huffed, looking cross for a moment before looking back at Roslin, "She'll do." He turned his attention to Stevron.

Stevron didn't wait to be welcomed or commanded, he knelt, head bowed down as low as his old joints could manage, "I pledge my allegiance to House Tully as Lord of the Twins...I will remain as loyal to House Tully, _as I was to the Young Wolf,_ " he stressed the last part, going out of his way to blatantly remind Hoster that unlike his father he had _never_ betrayed Robb Stark.

Hoster drummed his fingers of the surface of his desk rhythmically, Stevron was too afraid to meet Hoster's eyes as he continued kneeling.

Hoster hmmed, letting the silence stretch out before speaking, "As Lord Of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, on behalf of his grace, King Jon Targaryen the first of his name...I accept your fealty- _be sure not to abuse it_ ," he finished with a snide warning.

A weight that Stevron didn't know had been pressing down on him eased off of him.

"Get up, my Lord," Hoster continued. His tone held a modicum of respect that Stevron had never heard directed at his father.

Stevron rose gingerly, his knees aching. Their eyes met and he nearly recoiled at the baleful look in Hoster's eyes.

"Sit. Sit. We have wedding preparations to discus," Lord Hoster commanded, the baleful look in his eyes not going anywhere.

Stevron sat not at all reassured by the look he saw in his liege lord's eyes.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Having survived his meeting and oath of allegiance to Lord Hoster Tully, he'd been relegated into the background, no one in Riverrun was going to be taking orders from him- not even concerning the wedding preparations.

Night fell quickly and the hastily arranged wedding went off without a hitch.

It was his sister's wedding and yet each and every Lord and knight glared at him and not a small number that looked like they wanted to spit in his face.

 _So that's a step in the right direction_ , _not as many murderous looks as before..._ he thought to himself as he looked over the grand hall of Riverrun.

He was sitting at the high table, a couple of seats down from Lord Hoster. Brynden Tully sat on his brother's left, Edmure on the right. Roslin sat between Stevron and Edmure. To his own right, Ser Patrek Mallister was seated.

A close friend of Edmure- at least before the spell, Stevron was well aware of the part he played in mitigating Edmure's wrath at the Twins. The boy was green and well meaning, and a friend that Stevron intended to cultivate over time.

The wedding was very quiet and subdued despite the fact that Roslin and Edmure seemed happy with the marriage. The large number of armed and armored guests was probably responsible for the tense feelings in the hall, he thought idly.

…or it could be the crossbow men that were standing behind the two bards that someone had managed to scrounge up somewhere at short notice.

Stevron tried not to pay attention to all the reminders of how little trust currently existed between House Frey and...everyone, as the wedding feast continued. At least his new goodbrother was smiling and being civil with him. The ceremony in the Sept had been simple but dignified, if small. The smile on the new married couple's faces had been more genuine than any he'd seen in a long time. After the Septon had declared them joined, he'd felt all his anxiety ease out of him. It wasn't done to have your goodfamily murdered...and everyone would be avoiding his father's example of faithlessness for the next several _generations_.

The servants began bringing out the next course.

The servant placed the dish in front of him and he looked down before blanching and feeling the blood draining out of his face.

In front of him sat a _pie_.

From the smell of it, it was a _meat_ pie.

He broke out in a cold sweat. He cast furtive glances around him. The other guests hadn't been served pies, they had what looked like a venison steak placed before them. He looked to be the only one given a _pie_.

He saw Patrek glace towards him and then freeze, his eyes going wide as his face turned green. The young man suddenly pushed his own plate away from him.

Looking to the other side, he saw Roslin's smile frozen on her pale face as she stared at the pie. Edmure was blinking in surprise next to her.

"Aren't you _hungry_ , Lord _Frey_?" Hoster asked interrupting his thoughts.

He turned to face his liege lord and saw Hoster sitting there with a wide and malicious smile on his face.

Hoster didn't give him the chance to answer, "Surly, you won't insult my _hospitality_ by _not_ eating?" he asked menacingly.

He swallowed, his throat dry as his stomach dropped down to his ankles. He made himself smile back at Lord Hoster, "O-of course not, my Lord."

He turned back to his plate and slowly, he sliced himself a piece of the pie. He speared it with his fork, and with agonizing slowness, he brought the slice of his meat pie to his mouth, as he suddenly felt every eye in the great hall on him. The sweat that was beading on his forehead was starting to drip down his face. He could feel his heart beating against his ribs like a rapid drum.

The pie burned in his mouth, but not as much as the acid in his stomach. He chewed, pushing past the pain, trying with every shred of his being _not_ to imagine _who_ might be _in_ the pie.

"Hmm..." he swallowed the piece down and managed to keep the contents of his stomach down, "it is _delicious_ , my Lord," he manged to say, as he set his fork down.

Hoster sat back in seat and smiled nastily, "Good... _good_ ," he gestured towards the pie, "Then _Eat_."

At least I'm not dead...he reminded himself as he picked up his fork again and swallowed back his revulsion.

 _At least I'm not dead..._

 **Author's Notes:** So yeah,Hoster's seems to be channeling Palpatine here, but I swear to God I thought that the pie jokes were finished...but then this came to me. I wanted an ending for this POV and I realised that Hoster would be nasty enough to do this. Anyway, don't forget to review! :D


	15. Euron Greyjoy I

**Conversations with the not so dead**

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you all for all the reviews! All are appreciated and cherished :) Merry Christmas! And season's Greetings to all! Was going to update the Raven's Plan but the chapter is slow going and there are too many important reunions for me to rush through them all ;) Probably finished by New Year's. In the meantime, enjoy this look at Euron Greyjoy! As always don't forget to review! :D

 **Rating:** M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D

 **Summary:** Companion piece to my other fic, the Raven's Plan. A series of conversations from minor characters perspectives.

 **Euron Greyjoy I**

The sea spray cooled his face, refreshing him and making him smile. The sea air was a great gift from the Drowned God. So had the been the recent bounty in the Jade Sea. So many helpless ships at his mercy. The Yi Tish ships had fallen into his traps time and time again, the Azure Emperor's Fleet had been helpless to stop him and the _Silence_.

Whatever strangeness was affected people, it hadn't affected him...not after he'd _executed_ the troublemakers.

One day out the fucking blue, a few of his crew had started jumping up and down trying to tell him something. If he'd cared to listen to them than this could have been a problem. But if he'd wanted to listen to prattling fools then he wouldn't have had them cut out their tongues.

They'd annoyed him...so he'd crippled them and thrown them to the Drowned God. He'd get more crew the next time they made port.

Euron cast that annoyance aside, he had grand plans to put into action. More gold to be won then he knew what to do with! A Yi Ti ship carrying the year's taxes to the their capital all ready for the taking!

He grinned imagining the look of all that treasures spread out in front of him, the waves lapped against the hull of the _Silence_. It would be a prize above all else. To take the ship from the midst of it's protection. The Yi Ti ships would be wary and cautious, but he was Euron Greyjoy!

 _No Yi Tish was his equal on the water!_

Today was the day- or night rather, the fog clung to the water, as the _Silence_ approached it's prey.

His plan was a thing of genius, the ambush was set for when the tax ship approached the shore, moving to shallower waters that would make it harder for the escorts to maneuver quickly and they would be spread further apart to see further out, keeping an eye out for danger and to have longer to react to any threats- not that they'd see him or the _Silence_ coming.

It was only a matter of time now.

Soon he'd be there and all the plunder would be his!

The Silence foraged forward, silent on the ocean as they neared the ambush point.

"Get the boarding ramps ready!" He called out firmly without shouting. They were still probably too far away for him to be heard but there was no sense taking unnecessary risks.

He kept his eyes forward looking for the ship as his men got ready for the attack, silent and efficient as always. Off in the distance the outline of the ship finally appeared.

He grinned toothily feeling the rush of excitement as his plan came closer and closer to fruition. He could feel the thudding of his heart as they nearer. The details of the tax ship became clearer and then things truly began moving fast.

With a thundering shudder, the sound of the crash as the _Silence_ rammed into the side of the tax ship drowned out everything else. The boarding ramp came down onto the side of the other ship with a lesser crash. He roared as he jumped across the ramp as soon as it was in place.

The first sign that something was wrong was when instead of running to meet him, the Yi Tish crew drew back from them, forming solid groups at the far side of the ship. They weren't cowering, they were in formation, battle ready and weapons out, grim and angry, waiting for the Ironborn to come to them.

Euron led his men, raising his axe high and letting out a wordless roar of exhilaration as he rushed the Yi Tish sailors. He brought his axe down and found purchase in the chest of a man too slow to raise his weapon to block him.

More wordless screams surrounded him as his men crashed into the Yi Tish sailors. Blood and screams filled the night as Euron found a second victim, a small weak man swinging a sword at his Euron's face. He blocked the sword, then hooked it with his axe head, dragged the man forward where the man's nose met Euron's forehead.

The crunch of breaking bone shattered the man's resolve and he dropped his sword, Euron dispatched him with a quick blow.

In the mere moments he had fought, things still felt off...his instincts were screaming at him, every moment he stood there.

He looked around, looking for the hidden threat and this time he saw it.

The _Silence_ was being _boarded!_

The rest of crew and the guards were crossing over the boarding ramps or swigging across onto the Silence. Even as he watched a fire erupted on the deck of the _Silence_ now. It blazed even as his crew tried to put it out as they fought.

In the midst of the chaos, Euron saw one of the Yi Tish invaders ignoring his the men offering battle to him, ducking and dodging through the rapidly expanding melee. The man reached his target, he raised up a large axe and then it thudded down into the side if the main mast of the _Silence_.

"You right smart fucker," Euron cursed as ran back to his ship, he pushed his way past other fighters ignoring everything. He leapt back across, onto the _Silence_. If they brought down the main mast of the _Silence_ there was no chance they could escape from the tax ship's escorts.

A man accosted him, but he buried his axe in the man's stomach, before quickly pulling it out. The man fell to his knees as he tried to put his entrails back inside.

A second man came at him and Euron smashed him in the face with the haft of the axe. One of his crew stabbed him in the back as he reeled back from the blow.

Euron ignored it all as he reached the man trying to chop down the _Silence's_ mast. With no ado, he buried his axe in the back the Yi Tish man's skull. The man jerked and then fell bonelessly to the ground, as Euron ripped his axe from the dead man's sundered skull.

There was a loud crash and then the whole _Silence_ suddenly lurched and he nearly lost his footing, he looked around. There! It was one of the tax ship's escort- they'd rammed the _Silence_!

More Yi Tish men invaded the Silence, screaming in their foreign tongue and falling on his crew mercilessly. What had started as an ingenious plan was rapidly collapsing around him.

Another Yi Tish man vaulted onto the deck of the Silence. This one was different, he wore heavy armour, richly decorated and ornate. This was no ordinary man, this was their commander.

The Yi Tish commander didn't rush into battle like the rest of his men, this one, stared about him, his sword drawn and at the ready. The commander saw him and Euron saw recognition in this strange Yi Tish eyes.

The commander silently stalked towards him, "Time to die, Greyjoy," he said in broken and mangled common when he was near enough.

Euron grinned a wide menacing smile, "I ain't dying tonight, cunt!"

The Yi Tish commander locked eyes with him and then pointedly looked around him, before unexpectedly throwing his back his head and laughed, "Did you actually think that this would work _twice_?! Truly the Ironborn are _stupider_ than I ever imagined!"

Euron frowned, _twice_? "What the fuck are you talking about?" he roared in anger.

The commander frowned for a moment and then grinned again, he laughed again, "Such sweet irony...and it doesn't even matter any more..." the Commander took a two steps back away from Euron, "... _loose!_ " he cried out in command.

Bowmen appeared from nowhere and loosed their arrows. Euron screamed in anger and pain as the arrows entered his flesh, one, two three, four, five...and more...

The commander came at him then and kicked Euron in the head knocking him flat, his axe flying from his hand. He landed on his back, agony running through him from the arrows embedded in his flesh.

Euron managed to open his eyes, fighting through the pain, he saw the Commander standing over him, staring down at him implacably.

The Commander took a step to the side, " _Release!_ " he commanded gleefully, with a predatory smile.

Euron frowned not understanding, he sneered, meaning to spit at the Commander. There was a tug on one of the arrows in him and the pain intensified as the arrow didn't come out. He looked down and saw a rope attached to the end of the arrows...not just one arrow but _all_ of them.

He quickly looked towards the archers and found them holding small anchors. Even as he watched in disbelief another one dropped his anchor overboard. This time his whole body jerked in response. The tug on his wounds became more substantial and Euron cried out in pain as he was bodily dragged across the deck of the Silence. The agony intensified as he crashed into the side of the railing, pining him there.

Blood spattered across the railing as one of the arrows was torn from his body, he saw the barbed and hooked head still coated in his blood passing in front of his eyes. He grabbed a hold of the railing, holding on for dear life with both hands. The pain was nearly unbearable but he was Euron Greyjoy, no no name Yi Tish fucker was going to kill him today!

The pull was getting worse but he grit his teeth and held on.

Suddenly, the Commander was his side.

" _Go meet your damned Drowned God!_ " the commander screamed in his face as he pitched Euron over the side of the ship, flipping him over the railing, and breaking his grasp on the railing.

Euron's last glimpse of the deck of the Silence was of the Yi Tish Commander glaring at him with a very satisfied look on his face.

" _Well fuck..._ " Euron said as he was pulled under the cold waves of the Jade Sea.

 **Author's Notes:** Good bye Euron! Give my regards to the Drowned God! :D XD You will not be missed! :D Hope you all liked this. As always don't forget to review! :D


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